by Jann Rowland
It was clear Miss Bingley did not like him. That had never stopped Wickham before. In fact, several feathers in his cap had come courtesy of ladies who had disliked him at first, including one particular woman who had declared him the worst of all men. Seducing women who did not like him was a specialty for George Wickham.
Wickham’s thoughts then turned to Georgiana, and he shook his head before continuing on his way. Georgiana, he knew, he would always consider as the woman who evaded him, for not only did she possess even greater riches than Miss Bingley but taking her as a wife would have provided a fitting vengeance on Darcy. Underneath that, however, existed the residual affection Wickham had felt for her father—Wickham had esteemed the man, even though he had used him for everything he could get.
Wickham was not blind to the fact that he had betrayed the elder Mr. Darcy. The affection he harbored for Georgiana also informed him he had used her ill, and it did not sit well with him; it was strange, as he had never concerned himself with such matters before. Wickham mourned the loss of her fortune, now all his pretenses toward her were at an end, but he could not but rejoice that his actions had not permanently damaged her.
It occurred to Wickham that he owed her an apology. Though it was unlikely he would have an opportunity to offer it, should it arise, Wickham vowed he would beg her forgiveness.
Chapter XII
Satisfaction was foremost among Darcy’s feelings when Georgiana related the ladies’ encounter with one George Wickham that afternoon. At least, it was after she had assured him there had been no trouble.
“Mr. Wickham said nothing to me, William.” Georgiana, it appeared, was more than a little impatient with the question, and Darcy did not believe it was because she did not wish to speak of him. “In fact, I thought meeting me embarrassed him.”
“And well it should,” replied Darcy. “For a man who claims to hold our father in the highest esteem, he has not shown it with his actions.”
“I would agree with you,” acknowledged his sister. “Regardless, I believe I saw Mr. Wickham for what he truly is, and I did not like what I saw.”
Curious, Darcy turned to look at his sister. That look proved enough of an invitation for her to speak.
“Mr. Wickham is nothing less than a peacock. He struts about and draws attention to himself when he plies young ladies with pretty manners, reveling in the longing looks and sighs he receives. But Mr. Wickham is all show and no substance, a man who does not even fill out the uniform he wears. It would not surprise me to know that he understands this himself, though he gives himself airs, congratulating himself on his ability to charm gullible girls. His pretty manners shall no longer mislead me. I am done with George Wickham.”
Darcy, choked up at the evidence of his sister’s growing maturity, grasped her hands and squeezed. “There is no greater blessing than to hear you say that, Georgiana. If Wickham can no longer affect you, we can put the mistakes of the summer to rest.”
“I am ready, Brother,” replied Georgiana, her voice soft, such that he strained to hear it. Then she brightened and fixed him with a smirk. “I believe Miss Bingley also sees Mr. Wickham for what he is, even though she is similar, in many respects. Regardless, she does not appreciate his actions. As soon as she returned to the estate, she took to her rooms and has not been seen since.”
“Then I am sorry for her,” said Darcy, “though I will note it is poetic justice.”
Georgiana laughed and Darcy joined in with her. When their mirth had run its course, she turned her attention to Darcy’s activities that morning and, in the process, discovered he had come across Miss Elizabeth during his ride.
“That is excellent, Brother!” exclaimed she. “Your time together was fruitful, I hope.”
“If you mean to ask if I have proposed to her, the answer is no.”
Not appearing amused, Georgiana swatted at him, much to Darcy’s continued appreciation. Then he dropped the last piece of information she had not yet heard.
“But I am to dance the first with her at Bingley’s ball.”
Eyes wide as saucers, Georgiana gaped at him, and blurted: “You never dance the first!”
“On this occasion,” said Darcy, “I shall make an exception. I have it on good authority that Miss Elizabeth will not see this as a sign I am about to propose to her.”
“I should think not!” exclaimed Georgiana. Then she paused and chewed on her lip. “Can I assume Miss Bingley knows nothing of this?
“Of course not,” said Georgiana, answering her own question. “Miss Bingley has not emerged from her room since our return.”
“I solicited Miss Elizabeth for her hand yesterday during their visit to Netherfield, but no, I have not mentioned it to Miss Bingley. Nor do I intend to.”
Though surprised at his admission, Georgiana fell into giggles. “No, that would not do, I suppose. We would not wish for Miss Bingley to attack Elizabeth when she comes.”
Before dinner that night, another piece of unpleasant news was to come for Miss Bingley. A note arrived at Netherfield from Longbourn, brought into the room by the housekeeper and handed into Miss Bingley’s hands. The woman read the note, paled, and tried to make light of it, but her brother would not allow it.
“Who is it from, Caroline?” demanded Bingley after his sister prevaricated for some moments.
Though Miss Bingley regarded the note in her hand again with some distaste, she realized he would not allow her to dismiss it altogether as she wished. Had it arrived and been brought to her alone, Darcy doubted it would ever have seen the light of day.
“Mrs. Bennet has invited us to dinner after church tomorrow,” said Miss Bingley, though in as grudging a manner as possible.
“Excellent!” exclaimed Hurst. “Mrs. Bennet sets a table to envy—I look forward to it.”
Trust Hurst to consider the matter with nothing but his stomach. Miss Bingley shot him a sour look and turned pleading eyes on her brother.
“I should prefer not to go, Charles. It is Sunday, and the ball is only two days after.”
“And you shall not need to concern yourself for our dinner for one day,” replied Bingley, unmoved by his sister’s plea. “It will also free the servants from their tasks for the evening.”
“Charles,” said Miss Bingley, doing her best to maintain an even tone, “I do not wish to go to Longbourn for dinner. Anywhere else would be preferable. Can you not see how much I detest it? I will once again be subject to the inane attention of Mr. Collins, and you will be caught up with Miss Bennet. You will take no thought to my discomfort!”
“She is right about that,” said Hurst with a snort. “That Collins fellow is persistent and has little notion of how to go about wooing a woman.”
“Even if he did, I would not have him!” cried Miss Bingley. “He is altogether abhorrent!”
“Mr. Collins is not the most . . . impressive of specimens, it is true,” allowed Bingley. “I suppose I should speak to him.”
“Yes, speak to him! Inform him I have no interest and will not endure his company for even a single more minute, for I am at my wits’ end! Perhaps if I beat him about the head with my reticule, he will cease!”
The image struck them all as amusing, for the entire company laughed, except for the woman who had uttered it. She seemed to think they were all laughing at her expense, which, Darcy considered, was not entirely untrue. Bingley, when he gained control of his mirth, gave his sister an affectionate smile.
“Then I shall speak with Mr. Collins, Caroline, and see about persuading him to back off. But as for dinner, we shall attend, for I do not wish to insult our neighbors.”
Miss Bingley was not happy—this much was evident. However, she did not protest further, and she soon dashed off an acceptance note and sent it to Longbourn.
To Elizabeth’s delight, she met the Darcys the following morning at church, and their greeting became an agreement to sit together. But while this arrangement was welcome to Elizabeth, not everyone in the c
ongregation was fortunate enough to have such agreeable seating arrangements.
“Come, Miss Bingley, I insist,” said the parson in his usually ponderous manner. “Let us sit together this fine morning, and I shall give you my opinion of the sermon we are about to hear. No one else present is in a better position than I to assist you to understand today’s lesson.”
Though Mr. Collins’s invitation was not palatable to Miss Bingley, a fact understood by any who saw her reaction, Mr. Collins could see nothing of it. The parson grasped her arm and began directing her toward a nearby pew. For a moment, Miss Bingley, shocked that he had dared to lay his hand on her person, could not respond. Then she found her voice and tried to shake her hand free.
“Unhand me, Mr. Collins.”
“That is going too far, Mr. Collins,” echoed Mr. Bingley, who appeared at her side and glared at the parson.
“Not a bit of it!” was Mr. Collins’s jovial reply, as if their protests meant nothing to him. “I was only attempting to be solicitous.”
Mr. Bingley glanced about, noting they were attracting attention, and decided to avoid making a scene in the church. “We shall sit with you, Mr. Collins, but I would ask you to respect my sister and not treat her in this cavalier manner.”
That Mr. Collins did not understand Mr. Bingley’s objection was obvious, but he said nothing further, instead nodding and leading a now trapped Miss Bingley to the pew he had indicated. Mr. Bingley, having solicited Jane’s attendance, led her to sit next to Mr. Collins and Miss Bingley, his sister and her husband sitting behind them. Elizabeth, along with the Darcys, sat in the Bennet pew. It did not miss Elizabeth’s attention that her father was regarding the parson, amusement written on his brow.
“I see Mr. Collins still makes love to Miss Bingley,” whispered Elizabeth to her companions.
“And she greets it with peculiar fascination, I assure you,” whispered Georgiana back, along with a giggle. “When we went into Meryton yesterday, Mr. Wickham appeared and began to flatter her also. It seems Miss Bingley has more suitors than she could have imagined, and not the one she hoped to attract!”
Georgiana’s significant glance at Mr. Darcy left no doubt to whom she was referring, and while the gentleman shot her a quelling look, Elizabeth did not think he was unhappy with his sister’s sally. A glance back at Miss Bingley showed her discontent with the parson’s close attendance, though Elizabeth could see that Mr. Bingley was doing his best to distract him. This continued until the service started. Then it became worse.
Elizabeth did not know if Mr. Collins had ever attended a church service in which he did not provide the sermon; she knew within a few moments he had no notion one should listen in quiet contemplation. The disruption to the congregation was such that the dark looks speared the parson from all sides of the room. It was fortunate the elderly parson of Longbourn Parish, Mr. Jones, was more than a little deaf, for, in his own mind, the sermon progressed apace, his knowledge of the distraction nonexistent.
Elizabeth, who was sitting directly in front of Mr. Collins, could hear what he was saying. As the sermon progressed, Elizabeth became as disgusted with his interruption as anyone else in the room, for his words were nonsensical or in praise of his patroness.
“That is an interesting point, Miss Bingley, for my patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, has often said . . .”
“. . . what Mr. Jones means is . . .”
“ . . . in that sense, I suppose he is correct, though I would have said . . .”
“Did you hear that, Miss Bingley? That is a direct commandment to . . .”
By the end of the service, Elizabeth could tell her father, a mild-mannered man who was more apt to laugh at the foibles of others, was sitting ramrod straight, his mouth set in a firm line.
The contrast with Mr. Darcy, however, could not be more astounding. As a young woman raised in the traditions of the Christian religion, Elizabeth would have called herself a believer, but not one who was as rigid in her beliefs as her sister Mary. Both of her companions proved themselves to be reverent and interested in what that parson was saying, singing the hymns and reciting the passages with an ease which spoke of long practice. Mr. Darcy, she found, possessed a rich baritone voice, while his sister was a light and sweet soprano. Elizabeth could imagine many more such occasions in the future, though she chided herself for putting the cart before the horse.
After the final hymn, Elizabeth was unsurprised when her father rose, turned around, and directed a baleful glare at Mr. Collins. “That was some interesting commentary, Mr. Collins.”
“Yes, well, I have often been told I have a marvelous speaking voice, Mr. Bennet. My words were of benefit for Miss Bingley, but my gratitude at this evidence that it helped others understand is only equal to my humility in offering it.”
It was clear from her father’s raised eyebrow that Mr. Bennet was diverted all over again. Maintaining his purpose, however, he avoided laughing in the silly man’s face, and said:
“That is interesting. Should you attend church with us next Sunday, I would ask you to restrain your comments. At Longbourn, we prefer to allow the parson to make his sermon and listen with respect.”
Mr. Collins sniffed in disdain. “Then perhaps you should send your parson back to the seminary, for the man knows little of the Bible.”
Mr. Bennet was on the edge of reaching for Mr. Collins’s lapels and throttling him. “Mr. Jones has been the parson here for many years, and I have never heard so much as a whisper of complaint about him. Please keep your opinions to yourself, Cousin, or I shall have you removed.”
Little though Mr. Collins appreciated being ordered in such a manner, Mr. Bennet gave his cousin no opportunity to further state his case, for he turned and moved away, leaving Mr. Collins with the Bingleys. Those who had been standing near enough to overhear were polite enough to refrain from commenting, but Elizabeth saw more than one satisfied nod of agreement for her father’s words.
“Do you attend church often in Derbyshire?” asked Elizabeth of her companions. It was an inane question, for their performance told her they had; the situation demanded some conversation, however, and she did not know what else to say.
“We do,” replied Mr. Darcy. “Pemberley is in Kympton parish; the Darcy family has attended there for many years.”
The discussion evolved from there to a comparison of the church buildings, the styles their parsons used to impart their messages, and some of the charities in which they were involved and the assistance they offered those within reach of their influence. Before long, Elizabeth gained a clearer picture of Mr. Darcy as an estate owner and his sister as a young woman born to privilege. Mr. Darcy, she suspected, was a man of duty, one who cared for his estate like a mother might care for a child. Her father’s sometimes more lackadaisical approach would be foreign to Mr. Darcy, for, through his words, Elizabeth learned he often rode his estate and was not afraid to roll up his sleeves and assist in the work.
Georgiana was more shy in nature and less inclined to put herself out, but Elizabeth suspected the tenants of Pemberley loved her for her sweet demeanor and willingness to assist. When Georgiana spoke of preparing boxes for the families the previous Christmas, and how she had sewn a dress for a young tenant’s daughter, Elizabeth knew these were people who served others because it was right and proper and because it brought them joy to see others’ pleasure. These were no publicans who made a show of the donations they were making.
Then Elizabeth contrasted what she learned from speaking with them and had observed with what she had seen of Mr. Collins. Mr. Collins, Elizabeth decided, was very much immersed in the activity of doing good for the sake of being noticed. His insistence on stating his own opinions—during a sermon, no less—and suggesting he knew better than a man of many years of experience, were the actions of a prideful man. Once again, Elizabeth thanked the Lord on high that Mr. Collins had not seen fit to punish her with the dubious favor of his attention.
A few
moments later a familiar face entered Elizabeth’s view, and she welcomed her friend with a warm: “Charlotte! Join us for a moment, for I do not believe you have met Miss Darcy’s brother.”
Right on cue, Mr. Darcy requested an introduction and Elizabeth did the honors, eager to ensure the man she esteemed was known to her oldest friend. Mr. Darcy did not disappoint.
“Miss Lucas,” said he with a bow. “Yours is a name which often comes up when conversing with Miss Elizabeth, though I have only known her a few days. It is good to have a face to put with the name.”
Charlotte smiled, saying: “I hope Lizzy has given me a good report, for we have been friends for a long time.”
“An excellent account, Miss Lucas,” assured Mr. Darcy. “Miss Elizabeth esteems you above all others not of her family.”
The expressive smile Charlotte turned on Elizabeth seemed to suggest teasing, but Charlotte turned back to Mr. Darcy. “I do not see your cousin here today, Mr. Darcy. Could it be that he does not take his religious duties seriously?”
Mr. Darcy laughed. “Fitzwilliam will attend when he must, but many years in the army have rendered him lazy of a Sunday morning. There are no churches to attend when one is the target of French bayonets, or so he tells me.”
They all laughed together. The four stood for some moments speaking in a lively fashion until Elizabeth noted her father preparing to leave to return to Longbourn. As the Netherfield party was to accompany them, Elizabeth knew she would have the pleasure of their company on the brief walk to the manor.
“Lizzy!” hissed Charlotte as they made their way from the church. “What a handsome man you have caught for yourself. Now is your chance to ensure he does not escape!”
“I do not yet know the gentleman, Charlotte,” said Elizabeth, desperate to ensure Mr. Darcy did not overhear this exchange. “You know I cannot accept a man unless I love him.”
